


Kill My Prints

by anotherwinchesterfangirl



Series: Song Prompt Fics [10]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: A little angst, Dean is 22, M/M, Pre-Stanford, Quickie Hand Jobs, Smut, Wincest - Freeform, sam is 18
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-22
Updated: 2016-07-22
Packaged: 2018-07-26 01:34:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,089
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7555030
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anotherwinchesterfangirl/pseuds/anotherwinchesterfangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam’s keeping a secret from Dean and the tension breaks.</p><p>For the song prompt "Something To Do with My Hands" by Her Space Holiday.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Kill My Prints

**Author's Note:**

> A big thank you to [take_ninetynine](http://archiveofourown.org/users/take_ninetynine) for beta-ing this for me!

Sam’s wound tight these days, stressed and pissed and tired. It shows in his eyes and the set of his shoulders and the corners of his mouth. He and Dad fight almost constantly, and the blowout they had last night about moving on to the next town was enough to send Dean straight to the bar. Dean’s tired of it too, exhausted really, and Sam won’t tell him what’s going on, will barely look at him, hasn’t let Dean touch him in weeks. Dean is fucking sick of it.

So when they finally drag their bags into the only motel in this tiny town in the middle of Nowhere, Montana, and Dad heads to the library to start digging into the town records before it closes, Dean corners Sam next to the bathroom door.

“What is it?” he asks simply.

“What is what?” Sam’s trying to play it cool, but his tone is defensive, which makes Dean even more determined to find out what’s going on.

“What is it that you’re not telling me?” Dean takes a step forward, essentially boxing Sam in against the wall. Sam’s been taller than him for a year or so now, but Dean’s still broader and he draws himself up and out, like an angry peacock.

But Sam doesn’t even blink. “You don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.” He won’t look Dean in the eye, is just staring over Dean’s head and it’s driving him fucking crazy. He presses in further; their toes are almost touching.

“I know when something’s bothering you, Sammy. Just tell me.”

Sam finally looks down, meets Dean’s eyes, his expression unreadable, and Dean suddenly feels less pissed off and more vulnerable. He doesn’t want Sam to be mad, he just wants them to go back to normal—well, normal for them anyway. The air is charged between them, and Dean’s stomach twists because he can tell something is coming, a sucker punch to the face, and there’s nothing he can do about it.

Sam’s lips are parted like he’s about to say something, but before he can get a word out, Dean reaches up and drags his thumb over Sam’s pretty pink mouth. Sam sucks in a breath, sharp, his bottom lip falling open even more, and Dean’s thumb slips right over Sam’s bottom teeth.

“Dean,” Sam chokes out, like it was meant to be harsh but it comes out more like a whisper, breaking off at the end.

“Sammy.” Dean’s voice is rough. “I can’t stand it. Please.” Dean knows he’s not really making sense, but he also knows Sam understands what he means, because his eyes slip closed and he sort of deflates, swaying toward Dean like a balloon losing air.

And when their mouths connect, every muscle and nerve and bone in Dean’s body breathes a sigh of relief because _finally_.

Dean grips the back of Sam’s neck with one hand, his thumb pressing up behind Sam’s ear and holding him there while he sucks Sam’s tongue between his lips, until Sam moans, unravelling piece by piece until there’s nothing left but want and need and desperation. Dean thinks fleetingly that maybe he can kiss the secret out of Sam, or that maybe if he kisses him enough he can keep him from whatever it is, whatever is coming.

Dean feels Sam’s cock hard against his hip and presses into it, the friction between them making him gasp into Sam’s mouth. He can feel the sweat breaking out along Sam’s hairline at the back of his neck. He knows this has to be quick: the sun is setting and Dad will probably be back any minute. He’s reluctant to remove his lips from Sam’s, but his need to be touched wins out and he takes a step back, grappling at his belt buckle. Sam shucks his sweatpants before Dean’s even got his fly down, and he’s stroking himself, watching Dean with half-lidded eyes and his bottom lip between his teeth, and Dean thinks he’s gonna blow his load right then, has to grip the base of his cock hard to keep from coming.

All the breath rushes from his lungs when Sam wraps his large hand around both their cocks, starts to jerk them together with quick but measured movements. Dean leans in to kiss Sam again, so hard and open-mouthed that their teeth clack together, their tongues meeting sloppily, and slides his hand back into Sam’s hair. He squeezes his eyes shut, so far gone that he’s not even really kissing Sam anymore but just breathing the same breath, and the whole world boils down to the slick slide of Sam’s dick against his. Dean comes first, with a groan from deep in the back of his throat, spurting sticky all over Sam’s fingers, and Sam comes a second later, silent but shuddering under Dean’s hands.

Sam leans his forehead against Dean’s, and Dean is still gripping Sam by the back of the neck as they catch their breath.

“Dean,” Sam breathes, but Dean shakes his head.

“No, Sam, it’s okay. Not right now. Just…not right now.” Something in his gut tells him not to ruin it—it somehow feels like it might be the last time they get to be like this. He shakes the feeling away and straightens up, pulling his come-covered shirt over his head.

“I’m gonna take a shower,” he says, tossing his shirt toward their duffle bags. “Wrap these up in a towel so Dad doesn’t see, okay?” Sam just nods. They’ve been keeping this secret from Dad for long enough now that they’re pretty practiced at cleaning up after themselves. Sam’s already pulling his sweatpants back on when Dean shuts the bathroom door.

It isn’t until the next morning that Sam finally tells Dean the truth—he applied to colleges, he got accepted, he scored a full ride, he already bought a bus ticket, he leaves in a week—and Dean’s terrified; his heart is going to cave in on itself. But he thumps Sam on the back and tells him he’s proud of him, because it’s fucking true. And when he looks at Sam, notices the look in his eye just behind the well of tears hovering above his bottom lashes, he knows he’s gotta let him go. Even though it’s gonna hurt like a bitch, he has to. For Sammy. And as long as he knows where Sam is, as long as he knows Sammy’s safe, he can do it.

He has to.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! <3


End file.
